In Town vs. Up the Hill.

“How do you deal with the antisemitism?” is often the first question I get when talking about living in small-town America, even before October 7th. The assumption behind the question is that poorer and more rural populations harbor greater animosity toward and ignorance of the Jewish community. And that those who are raised in wealthier and more diverse milieus are better inoculated against the virus of antisemitism by virtue of their progressive education and varied experiences. I believe these assumptions are reductive and misleading.

My experience of living in rural Maine while simultaneously working on an elite college campus disproves many of these stereotypes. I have experienced little anti-semitism in the town of Waterville in the 13 years I have lived here. But my experience in higher education, despite its staggering financial resources and clearly stated commitment to inclusion, has been far more varied.

From the moment I arrived in Waterville as a student rabbi, I have worn a kippah daily and publicly. No one has ever attacked me for it. There were two moments when I considered taking it off: after the election of Donald Trump in 2016 and after 10/7. In both cases, at the urging of my wife, I continued to cover my head with the small, crocheted head coverings I purchased at the Jerusalem bus station. She was right—my fears never materialized. If anything, my kippah invited unexpected and moving moments of compassion. Especially right after October 7th, and even in the following months, neighbors and acquaintances approached me to say, “I’m so sorry. This must be so hard.” As I walked downtown, people of diverse political views let me know that they were sympathetic—not necessarily to the Israeli government (though some are) but to the emotional difficulty of my position, and that of my family and students. In a moment that truly heartened me, my younger daughter’s Girl Scout troop leader—a devout Mormon—asked me to do a short presentation on our family trip to Israel this past February. When I was done, the troop asked my daughter and me to teach them a Hebrew word every week. A dozen girls in Waterville can all now say “Ani rotzah nishnoosh!” (I want a snack!)

Up the hill on campus, I have received similar hearty support from many colleagues and administrators. Colby College remained comparatively civil and safe for Jewish students. And yet, the only place in my life where I have encountered disturbing and disquieting moments of anti-Jewish animus has been in the faculty lounge. It is there—for years—that people told me “Jewishness bleaches people…Ethiopian Christians are blacker than Ethiopian Jews,” or explained that Latin American Jews aren’t really people of color because of their wealth, or insinuated, or reported outright, that I don’t need to fundraise very hard for our Hillel because I have unfettered access to a cadre of billionaires. I feel incredibly blessed that when I have encountered those comments, some faculty colleagues intervene and educate so I don’t have to. I don’t take that kind of support for granted in the current landscape, and it is one of the many reasons I’m grateful to be at Colby.

And yet this year, that kind of support was no longer sufficient. Some affiliated members of the Jewish community, myself included, became targets of both subtle ostracization and open animus.

On a small campus, these sentiments rarely remain confined to the faculty lounge. They spill out into oblique comments in classes and more direct invective in office hours. Inevitably, students absorb the message that the “bad” Jewish faculty (which is to say, those who don’t publicly condemn and distance themselves from Israel) work in shadowy and nefarious ways to oppress others, and that they should be viewed with suspicion and contempt. They also know that the more I speak out and protest, the more public a target I become. What breaks my heart is that my students notice all of it, and it has become an indelible part of their personal and Jewish stories.

It turns out that education does not inoculate against antisemitism. As we have learned this past year, the academy is often one of its effective vectors.

So, how do I deal with antisemitism in Waterville? I go to Girl Scouts.